


Locket

by Glyphron



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Cute, Drabble, F/M, Romance, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 13:59:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5458991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glyphron/pseuds/Glyphron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The favor Fenris wears about his wrist isn't the only gift Hawke has given him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Locket

~Secretly, he was aware when she began speaking to him, expressing her concern. Her healing magic had bound his wounds and replenished his strength, calling his awareness to the surface. But, he kept his eyes shut, feigning unconsciousness still. He couldn't be certain why he did this, if he simply did not want to interrupt such a tender moment, face the guilt of her affections which he had denied, was merely curious what she would say, or just wasn't ready to truly awaken. But he was there with her and he heard her. Felt her presence as it moved.

Delicate fingers softly brush strands of hair from his face, and a soft cloth gently wipes the sweat and grime from his brow.

"You worry me," Her voice trembles ever so slightly.

There is a pause as she wets the cloth in a bucket of water upon the nightstand and rings it.

"It seems I am always patching you up these days."

She proceeds to bathe away the dried blood from his skin. Careful of his markings, her hands are light and steady as she scrubs. They are practiced, paitent. Her fingers are confident and sure as they apply small amounts of pressure every now and again. And her focus is clear and singular in tending to him. She is a prime example of all the things healers pride themselves for.

As she comes to a finish, leaving no trace of battle on him, she offers up a heavy sigh. She discards the dirty rag in the bucket, returning her attention to her concern. He hears her shift a little, working at something unknown. In the next moment her hand covers his, pressing something warm and smooth into his palm. She curls his fingers around it, closing his grasp firmly so it will not be lost before he wakes. Leaving the small object in his care.

"It is all I have left of them," her voice nearly whispers, "I like to think it keeps them close, that it gives me strength. Maybe some small means of protection. Like they're watching over me. I think.... you need it more than I. I hope you keep it with you."

With this, he comes to understand what she has just placed into his grip. The delicate item is her mother's locket. He nearly shudders at the prospect, knowing how precious it is to her. Yet she gives it to him freely on a whim to keep him safe. It spreads a warmth through him, a yearning.

"I will be here, as always, to mend and look after you when you need me."

She presses her lips to his brow, soft and sweet.~

***********************

Fenris studied the locket's contents once more. Ever watchful that the tiny gems inside did not escape. There was a pair of diamonds for Leandra and Malcom. A sapphire for Carver and an opal for Bethany, shining in the firelight. A deep red ruby represented Marianna though he thought amber would have been more appropriate. There was even an emerald for Gamlen, added a few years after the Hawke family had arrived in Kirkwall. Placed when relations between Leandra and her brother finally began to improve. All were accounted for, and he pressed the pendant closed, locking them inside.

The memory of which it had called forth, was years in the past. So much had come and gone within that time, so much had been left behind. But, this tiny homage to a family he had come to love had been carried with him through it all. There were a few times he had pondered returning it to her. Giving back whatever proclaimed protection it might provide, so he would not lose her. But, he had come to think better of it each time. By keeping it, she was connected to him regardless of any circumstances. He had a piece of her that would always be with him, even if they became separated. And, that was not the whole of it.

He did not trust a delicately crafted ornament to protect her. At least not well enough. Even if her mother, father, and siblings were watching over her from beyond with it. What good could a necklace do against an onslaught? It was he who was best suited for that task. Only he could protect her properly enough, and that is why keeping something of her close was so important. It spurred him on as he hunted her. Drove him even when he reached his limits to find her, and return to his task of guarding her. 

She was his mage, the only good one to speak of as far as he was concerned, and he her warrior. The novelty of loving someone of a faction he had so utterly opposed had long since worn off. But, not the knowledge that mages were physically rather weak in comparison. And so, presently, it was she who worried him.

Fenris had expected this. Varric's letter had caused her to become restless. He had known she intended to correct her failings, that she would do her best to leave him behind, 'safe'. Much to his dismay and regardless of his own thoughts on the matter. 

It wasn't Corypheus that she feared, she had faced him before, it was the Inquisition. Neither of them knew what this Chantry offshoot would do to her in consequence to the war in Kirkwall. The Exalted March had never come, but would they pass up condemning her if she came out of hiding? Would they accept her aid, or merely pass judgement and consign her to a punishing fate?

He would not simply allow the latter to happen. And, even if they took her on as an ally, he would do his best to ensure she did not face the dangers ahead alone. So he followed her, shadowing the paths she took. Tracing her steps in fear of what may befall her.

He wraps the treasured trinket in a soft cloth as he has always kept it, so that it will not tarnish. He then places it back within the tiny wooden box he had whittled long ago to shelter it in and stores it in a leather pouch at his belt. Certain that it was safe again, he departs from his seat. He pays the bar keep for his service, and moves on.

Leaving the tavern behind, he makes way for the road. It spans far across his view into the horizon, and he makes haste to resume his endeavor. Travelling with a caravan, and thus by wagon for the time being, she has the advantage and is far ahead. Whereas he is left only with his own two feet.

Clearly, this will not stop him....


End file.
